


Like Stars

by littlecakes



Series: Like Stars [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Eating Disorders, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: Prompto and Ignis spend a morning drawing constellations.





	Like Stars

The bed is empty when Ignis wakes that morning. It isn’t a terribly unusual occurrence; Prompto and Ignis keep a quiet record of who’s first out of bed, both desiring to be the early bird of the group. In fact, what’s even more common than one waking without the other is the two waking up together to bask in reverence of the early morning light. The thought of the ‘reverence’ they had shared mornings past brought a sly smirk to the advisor’s face.

No, what’s terribly unusual this morning is the absence of the other two members of their party. Noctis and Gladio are gone, presumably fishing. The two had been talking about taking a trip on the boat out to sea, spending the day hunting down a legendary fishing god. Ignis couldn’t complain; a day in Altissia, alone, with Prompto… Who was he to deny himself a morning off with such good company?

It’s almost as if he can hear the King’s voice echoing through his ears.  _ “Take it easy, Specs. Enjoy it.” _

“Gladio and Noct off fishing, I presume?” he calls, rolling over to check his phone and finding a text message that confirms his suspicion.

“They left an hour ago,” Prompto replies through the bathroom door. The water squeals in the pipes as the pressure’s released and the sound of water pummeling ceramic tiles ceases. “Said they’d be back before dinner.”

“Alright then.”

Ignis rises and dresses himself in a t-shirt and lounge pants. It’s the only clothing he’s brought that isn’t his Crownsguard fatigues or casual clothing. He doesn’t have much of a need for anything else, and honestly, it was silly to think that he would’ve needed them when he packed them weeks ago. However, in light of everything that’s happened, he wishes he had packed more.

Hindsight’s always 20/20, he supposes. Even he can’t surmise what’s going to happen, no matter how well-trained he may be in predicting the opposition’s moves. Ignis isn’t perfect, though he tries his hardest to be. He has to admit his own faults or his ego may swell to match Gladio’s.

A steaming hot cup of coffee is sitting on the table in the kitchenette waiting for him, along with a pastry and some fruit. The clean plate in the sink tells Ignis that Prompto’s already eaten. He can only hope that Prompto’s actually  _ eaten _ something and not just washed the plate as a ruse. 

It’s happened before.

Ignis stares at the breakfast so carefully laid out for him. He doesn’t want to be suspicious. There’s already a small blossom of guilt growing in his gut. However, he does remember the rather lavish spread they’d had at dinner the night before. Buttery fish, scallops, and shrimp, all on a bed of spicy rice; it had been such a treat for both of them, being the only lovers of truly spicy dishes in the foursome. Ignis remembers the Leide peppers hidden in nearly every bite and their accompanying heat with joy.

Then he remembers how much Prompto had allowed himself to eat. Watching him forget about his disorder, even for just a meal, to eat for pleasure had been such a delight. It was so rare and wonderful.

Eyes fall on the clean plate again and Ignis decides to wait on eating, just in case. It’s more than likely Prompto’s punishing himself for eating so much and has decided to forgo breakfast. Leave it to Ignis, master of tact, to convince him otherwise. He does, however, take several minutes to enjoy the bitter, aromatic beverage Prompto has left for him. It would be a shame to let it go cold.

“Are you alright?” He calls as the back of his ungloved knuckles tap lightly against the bathroom door. It’s with a smile he can imagine the blonde shudder with surprise at the sound. “Been in there awhile.”

“Yeah,” Prompto says. The door muffling his voice doesn’t hide the nervousness Ignis knows so well.

“Did the shellfish last night not sit well?”

Prompto pauses. “It’s not that.”

Well, at least they aren’t tiptoeing around it today. Ignis licks his lips anxiously. He can imagine it now, Prompto, standing in front of that big, full-view mirror the hotel has on the wall next to the bathtub, silently tearing himself apart. It wrenches Ignis’s heart and makes him impatient, unwilling to wait when he knows Prompto’s in there belittling himself.

“Can I come in?”

Another pause. “It’s unlocked,” he answers quietly.

The door complains as it’s opened with a loud creak. Steam begins to rush into the chilly air of the hotel room- Noctis always insists on keeping their quarters closed so he can cuddle up to his Shield without complaint- as soon as Ignis opens it. Just as he suspected, Prompto is standing in front of the fogged mirror. There’s streaks in the humidity that’s collected on its surface where Prompto has wiped away the moisture to get a better look at himself.

The two stand in the bathroom in silence. Prompto, in his boxer briefs that pucker loosely around his slender hips, is pressing his fingertips into the freckled flesh of his arms and face. Though he’s recovering and he’s looking healthier than he ever has in the years Ignis has known him, the protruding angle of his pelvic bone and the jut of his elbow tell Ignis Prompto still has a long way to go before he’s finished. His eyebrows are knit together in concentration as he pushes so hard at his arms that he leaves little white fingerprints that fade back to pink.

“What is it, love?” Ignis asks quietly, stepping a bit closer. The tiled floor is cool beneath his feet.

The blonde pokes at himself again and again. Now that the air’s less hazy, Ignis can see the aftermath of Prompto’s self-inspection. There are red lines, made by fingernails, no doubt, that trace over the faded stretch marks that travel down the sides of his stomach. Violet eyes are red and puffy as Prompto steps closer to the mirror to poke at a particularly large freckle on the top of his shoulder.

“I wear sunscreen. I try to stay in the shade whenever I have the chance,” Prompto says. “But there are so  _ many _ of them.”

Ignis holds in the sigh he wants to release. He knows it’ll only make things worse. Prompto’s told him on more than one occasion how bad he feels about even talking about the things he thinks in private moments. Rather, he closes the gap between himself and his lover to fold his arms around Prompto’s slender hips and press a kiss to the dots scattered across his shoulder.

“I hate them,” Prompto mutters. “You guys all have like, flawless skin. Here I am with all my freckles and marks and…”

The groan that escapes the blonde’s lips pulls at Ignis’s heartstrings. He resorts to holding him tightly with one arm as he skates his free hand over the troublesome marks. They’re numerous and infinite, with dustings of them in shades from light to dark. There’s even a mole hidden among them, though it’s out of Prompto’s sight on the back of his shoulder blade and Ignis is loathe to even mention it. A kiss is pressed to it in silent appreciation.

“Darling, you may have freckles, yes, but your skin is…” Ignis begins. “Smooth… soft… warm… utterly sensational. Especially the freckles.” He punctuates each pause with a kiss against Prompto’s skin.

A smile teases at the corner of Prompto’s mouth as he closes his eyes. He breathes in deeply, the breath itself shuddering and unstable. “You think so?”

“I know so. They’re wonderful. All beautiful and unique, like stars.”

“Stop,” Prompto whines, but he’s smiling and the blush painting his cheeks is indescribably adorable.

“I could teach you the constellations, if you like,” Ignis whispers, his lips ghosting over Prompto’s shoulder as he speaks. The shiver he feels course through the man in his arms is utterly delectable.

“Ignis,” Prompto whispers, but the statement ends there, hinting at more. That’s okay, though. Ignis is patient, occupying himself with kissing the crook of Prompto’s neck while he waits for him to collect his thoughts. A small hand delicately covers Ignis’s own, pressing it into creamy, freckled flesh. “Show me.”

Ignis grabs a dry towel from the rack on the wall beside the mirror, folds it, and sets in on the floor in front of the mirror. “Sit here, and I’ll be back shortly.”

There’s a felt-tip pen that Ignis keeps with his recipe journal that’s perfect for this. He carefully retrieves it from his belongings, rearranges everything so it’s just as it was, and returns to the bathroom to find Prompto sitting just where he left him. The blonde is nervously picking at the cuticles on his fingers as is his nervous habit. Ignis grabs the other clean towel, sends a silent, telepathic apology to Gladio as he’ll have to share the last clean towel with Noctis, and sets it on the floor behind Prompto. Ignis kneels on it, giving him perfect access to all of Prompto.

“Ah, here’s a good place to start,” Ignis says, uncapping the marker.

“What are you doing with that??” Prompto asks nervously.

Ignis smirks. “Mapping the constellations, of course.”

“I just took a shower!”

“Lovely, then my canvas is nice and clean,” Ignis teases, leaning over to press a kiss to Prompto’s cheek. “Here,” he says, pressing his marker against the large freckle Prompto had poked at just before. He connects it in a long, zig-zagging line that begins at Prompto’s shoulder and ends just above his right nipple. “Here we have the Tidemother, accepting mortals’ offerings.”

“Your marker tickles,” Prompto says with a smirk, settling in so his back is leaning against Ignis’s torso.

“Another’s here,” he says, starting on Prompto’s bicep and connecting several in a spiky shape. “Bahamut. God of war, giver of the Crystal.”

“And you draw him in a blob shape? The dude has like, a bazillion swords, right?”

“I am a tactician, not an artist,” Ignis teases. “If you keep interrupting, I’m afraid I’ll have to discontinue our lesson.”

“Teach away, Iggy.”

“Right.” Ignis moves to Prompto’s back and begins connecting stars until he’s got a relatively human shape there. Prompto giggles under the marker’s ruthless, ticklish tip. “Ifrit…” Ignis mutters, before starting another form right next to it. “And Shiva. The lovers, sharing a kiss among the stars.”

“Any others?” Prompto asks quietly.

“There’s one more,” Ignis murmurs, looking in the mirror at Prompto. His lavender eyes are no longer foggy with tears; the color’s returned, as well as his usual vibrant energy. There’s something else there. Perhaps it’s love. Ignis allows himself a moment to relish the idea that the adoration he feels for his partner is mutual.

The marker touches Prompto’s skin one last time. Thin, black lines are drawn, connecting freckles together in the shape of a large starburst. He takes his time, finding freckles that are just the right distance from the center, until it has many arms sprouting from it. It’s covering almost the entirety of Prompto’s left pectoral.

“What is it?” Prompto asks, looking down at it and tracing the marks in his skin with fascination. “I like it.”

Ignis can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he speaks. “It’s the sun, which radiates warmth and beauty. Much like yourself, darling.”

Prompto bites his lip before turning to look at Ignis. His eyes are bright and shining again, their surface reflecting the light like diamonds. Ignis can’t help but reach up, taking Prompto’s face in his hands gently and uses his thumb to wipe an errant tear from the blonde’s eye.

“Do you believe me?” he asks, quietly.

“I want to,” Prompto murmurs.

“That’s a start,” Ignis replies, before kissing him. “A good start.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading my tooth-rotting Promnis <3


End file.
